


Rabid

by The_Tevinter_Biscuit



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Body Image, Drunkenness, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Intimacy, M/M, Self-Hatred, Slave Fenris, Slavery, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 07:59:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5619523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Tevinter_Biscuit/pseuds/The_Tevinter_Biscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'You're the darkest horse that I've ever seen<br/>Of all the things you fuck I'm the most empty.'<br/>- 'Rabid' by Nicole Dollanganger.</p><p>Fenris copes with animals he and Hawke have become.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rabid

**Author's Note:**

> Title and some lines come from inspiration by Nicole Dollanganger. Particularly her song 'Rabid'.
> 
> If you came here for some sweet hurt/comfort you should probably turn around. There isn't too much of that.

A stony grip on tattooed hips feigned a ruse of intimacy. Satiating something so hollow was a near impossible task, a quest sought out by only those foolish enough to think that it was within reach. Desperate grasps at nothing, latching onto a feeling that would replicate the sensation of anything but numbness. Hawke tried his hardest to redintegrate parts of him that had never been whole to begin with. And in the wake of his lips, he left gentle bruises that’d crawl under his skin. Hawke couldn’t be blamed for the naivety in the ways he caressed Fenris’s body. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know.

 

There was no way that he could ever admit such an act of depravity from his past. A simple stare in the mirror was enough to put him off the idea. Lyrium filled tattoos embraced his flesh, almost as if holding him in its viny grip. To touch them was only to remind him of the hidden thorns. Its sharp pinches to protect something supposedly made of beauty. Although, finding something remotely beautiful in his reflection was another feat that he knew he’d never get a hold on. It didn’t matter if Hawke wrapped his arms around him and kissed every scar on his body, there was no use trying to put band-aids on broken bones.

  
  


Fenris had always been mesmerised by the way Hawke charged the battlefield, made decisions impulsively but not falsely, and the way he could still shoot out a sarcastic quip despite everything going on around him. Fenris knew how bloodshed could change a man, there was not a feeling in the world that could be compared to the splatter of another person on your clothes, your face, your entity as a whole. And he knew it didn’t matter how hard you scrubbed, it was a stain that would never come out. It coated you in a thick lining of filth that’d hang over you until the day you died. As far back as he could remember, Fenris couldn’t think of a time when he’d seen himself underneath that layer of disgust. No matter how well he disguised it, Fenris recognised that emotionless look in the Hawke’s eyes as one that could mirror his own. The rabid ferocity that took over Hawke as he slaughtered his enemies was one to fear.  It was as if an animal had been released from its cage. Anything human within Hawke was teared to nothing but shreds the second he painted the ground with seas of red. He left the mess for someone else. The swimming pool of ugliness that resonated within Fenris was one he was almost certain was building up within Hawke.

 

It came out in the way he held him, touched him, and the way he rocked their bodies together in the dampness and sweat of itchy bed covers. He ran his fingers along the curves of an empty shell that breathed in a steady rhythm and whimpered pitifully. It left behind a dull ache in his body that he felt for days. The occasional pang of pain tormenting his insides was overwhelmed by the shame of enjoying it. It was a well deserved punishment for his every sin. Hawke couldn’t see through the haziness of time itself. He was squeezing Fenris’s body with a tenderness that could only be perceived as an immature act of desperation. Sickening memories of a darker time plagued the elf’s mind when he breathed heavily on his neck and let the sweat drip onto him. Fenris accepted it, willingly, he didn’t want to hear the whispers of praise in his pointy ears. This hollow act of sexual familiarity was enough to remind him he was alive and that this was his place in the world. 

 

Deep down he wished he could scratch it off. He hoped that beneath it all was some shed of dignity he could uncover. Hawke sat on the edge of the bed, his shirt still forgotten on the floor. He stared off into the distance, seemingly blank. By his side, Fenris curled himself into the messy sheets. He pretended to sleep, rolled on his side facing away from his bed mate and wanting to drift off into some place far away. A part of him wished that if he fell asleep now there would not be a time that he woke. Inside was a desire to never have to submerge himself in this torture any longer and plunge into the cool depths of nothingness. He willed Hawke away, to leave him in this place of distorted peace. He didn’t wish to bring him any closer. No matter how desperately Hawke wanted to reach into his scalp and pull out the monsters that had become a part of him, he could never allow it. The vulnerability was too much to risk. 

 

He’d be drunk on his own pity by the time of his leave. Wrapped only in the disgusting stench of vomit and piss to soothe his woes. In his disoriented state, he wondered who to blame. Any decent man would hold Danarius accountable for the bloodstains on his hands. Fenris could accept that much. However the hold he once had on his thighs was enough to send him back into a spiral of retching and self-disgust. One single exhale would escape him. 

 

Trapped within the only life he knew how to live, Fenris still found life as a free man one of great suffering. A return may have been lingering in the back of his mind. At least the physical pain was one that he could live with. There was no settling him now, no matter how much a new life was encouraged, there was no escaping the life that had been haunting and chasing him all these years. It had seeped into his bloodstream and infected him. Apprehension leaked from him, there was always something to fear. The more he wished to kill, the more he wished to take away the hands that hurt. No blood would ever be enough.

 

So he lay quietly. Whilst he was resting here, there was no way he could possibly ruin anything else - not himself nor anyone else. The animalistic disease that consumed him could be contained here. His dark eyebrows furrowed as deep as his frown, a false expression of anger that could only be tied tightly to the pit of sadness in his stomach. He would pull his knees closer to his chest and forget. To imagine a better time would be an impossible task, for there was no better time to imagine.

 

Hawke knew. Fenris suspected he always knew but blinded himself in the ignorance of believing he was unknowing. 

 

The act of warm, clammy hands on his skin initially scared him, he jolted on the bed and turned to look at Hawke with alarm. Perhaps he had been too consumed by his own retrospection on his former life under the cruel, demanding hands of Danarius. Hawke pressed his lips to his shoulder and rubbed circles with his thumb on his waist. He shuffled behind him, enveloping his body in his own heat. Eventually, his expression settled.

 

But as much as Fenris wanted to indulge in the act of intimacy, he had noticed that feral look in his eyes and knew that this was just a naive ruse. Their relationship was nothing but hollow. Fading into the night, they lay there letting the fake expression of love take over. 

 

Maybe just for now, they could pretend there was nothing wrong. 

 


End file.
